Homeward Bound
by gammara
Summary: Al makes a desperate decision. Sam begins to recognize an Evil Leaper.
1. Chapter 1

**Homeward Bound**

This dream was sweet. He was flying at nearly mach 3, soaring through the air faster than the speed of sound … watching the clouds pass by like the kind of cotton candy he got when he lived at the circus. Swerving his plane, he dodged through the white puffs with a yelp through his facemask.

It was freeing … invigorating.

Al, despite a sharp nudge in the rib cage, was hesitant to wake until the poking became more persistent. With one eye, he noted Beth leaning over him.

Her voice trembled with emotion; she'd never sounded so excited and terrified in her life.

"Al, they found him!"

Suddenly his eyes shot open with a flash and he sat up in bed, staring into the darkness. He didn't need to ask who "him" was or what they'd actually located; it was evident in everything and everyway she said those words. Beth meant they'd discovered the whereabouts of Dr. Sam Beckett. After ten long years of waiting, hoping and praying, this was it. Finally!

Springing to his feet, he wrapped his robe around him, kissed his wife with a frantic goodbye, and ran to his car. It never really mattered what he was wearing, or not wearing … especially not now. They'd found him; his friend for the first time in what seemed like a lifetime had a real shot at coming home.

The admiral made a beeline to his red convertible, the one his wife begged him not to buy, looked in the mirror and decided he had no one to impress. After all, Sam had seen him wearing more robes than a geisha girl at a teahouse full of tourists.

"Hello, Admiral Calavicci," said the seductive voice of Ziggy as he sped down the New Mexico highway.

"Ziggy, you got a lock on Sam!"

"Of course. There's not need to raise your voice to me," she said, temperamentally. "You know it makes me nervous."

Al smirked. It was times like these that he regretted Sam programming the good-for-nothing mega computer with a personality. _She_ – Ziggy was definitely female – was a real pain in the keister, spewing her brand of logic with the same bad manners he imagined one of the Gabor sisters had. But, unlike the Gabor sisters, Ziggy wasn't sexy, she … it … was a pile of wires, cable connections and electronic parts. Nothing attractive about that – at least not to the admiral. What Sam thought was a different story … he loved that kinda stuff.

"Sorry. You know how much I've been looking forward to this," Al said, cooing to it like he would a woman.

Gooshie broke though the line, "Al, you've gotta get here quick! The connection is only good for another ten minutes!"

"Ziggy, how much time do I have!" Al said, his hands gripping the steering wheel.

"You're yelling again, Admiral," she said as if pouting.

He sighed and then conjuring up the most soothing, melodic notes he could settle on, he asked again. "I'm sorry. How many minutes?"

"At your current rate of speed, you'll be here in another 11.5 minutes," she said.

Al's foot smashed on the accelerator, zooming past the 100 mph speed limit he'd set for himself (since the last traffic ticket) and pushing his car near the fastest he'd ever driven – 110, 115 ….

"Careful, Admiral. There's a speed trap up ahead," Ziggy said.

Swallowing hard, he zipped through, surprised not to see red and blue lights in his rear view mirror.

"You've got 8 minutes!" Gooshie yelled.

"You'll be here in 7.23 minutes," Ziggy said. "Now it's 7.20 …."

Bracing himself, his right foot touched the floor as he realized he was traveling at easily 150 mph. Whining, his engine struggled against the speed its owner insisted on and finally zoomed into the parking structure with a chug and a clunk. Parking haphazardly the car moaned, sputtered and then gave up. He leapt from his vehicle, ran into the facility, past the guards (who were used to this entry) and into the main area – one room away from the imagining chamber.

"What took you so long?" Ziggy asked.

Gooshie ran over and put the handheld into Al's grip. "He's English …."

"The imaging chamber? You mean, there's someone in there?" Al asked. After ten years of being completely vacant, the admiral was floored by the answer.

"Yes."

It'd been empty for so long they'd stopped ventilating it – to save money and ensure the project stayed around long enough for them to find Sam trapped in time. Since the bizarre circumstances ten years ago when his body and spirit were sucked out of the imagining chamber, and Al finally found him in a tiny town in Pennsylvania, the entire staff had done everything within their means to ensure the program ran so that Sam could make it home.

But, hell – ten years was a long time and the government sure as hell didn't make it easy. Reducing the grant money to a mere pittance, some of the staff (for economic reasons) had to leave the project. Reputations, mostly Al's, were nearly shot; the admiral was afforded fewer and fewer privileges, even with _his_ command experience and background. Gooshie was laughed out of the scientific community, which was a small consolation to his relationship with Tina. And luckily, Beth had stood behind her husband; their marriage and family life were the only support, other than the immediate team, he got.

The rest? Bupkus.

Al had no regrets; Sam would've done the same for him.

Synching the belt on his robe tight, he forced his fingertips against the blinking lights of his handheld and stepped into the imaging chamber. The man inside stunned Al – he looked a hell of a lot like Sam: same skunk stripe at the forehead, same eyes, same cleft in the chin. The only difference, maybe, is that the guy in front of him looked older.

_About ten years older_, he thought. That spooked him.

"My name is Al Calavicci," Al said.

The man, stunned stared around the room and it was only a matter of time before the four or five questions that everyone always asked came out of his mouth. Al knew the drill by heart, but after ten years decided to implement some changes. If they were going to get a lock on Sam, they needed every piece of information they could get. Al would worry about the repercussions later.

"You're in New Mexico – in the future. I know you don't understand that, but … it's an experiment. The project is called Quantum Leap."

"Quantum?" the man asked. "I teach Quantum Physics at …."

Al could tell he didn't remember.

"It's okay, just relax – it'll come to you. Time traveling has a way of Swiss-cheesing people's memories."

"Swiss cheese?" he asked.

"Full of holes."

"Why am I here?" the man asked.

"That's what I'm hear to find out." Giving his handheld a thwack, he asked a question to the room. "Gooshie, you found him yet?"

The handheld blinked and squawked, indicating they were close.

"Almost, Admiral! We only have one minute …!"

-------

Sam stared into space. It was difficult to tell where he was or what he was doing. He couldn't even tell how he got here or why. For that matter, he couldn't even determine _who_ he was. Looking around the room he could tell it was a posh flat.

"Posh?" he asked himself. That didn't sound like him – whoever _him_ was.

Curled up in feather bed, he lay under mounds of covers. Glancing under the covers he drew a sigh of relief; he was wearing a pair of blue pajamas with red piping down the legs – the kind he remembered seeing in Rock Hudson movies.

_Rock Hudson. Funny I remember that name and not my own._

Turning his head slightly, he heard the water in the bathroom shut off. A woman, a very attractive brunette in her early twenties, sauntered out in a silky pink nightgown. She looked familiar to him, as if he'd seen her before, but couldn't quite place where or when. For a moment, Sam felt his face slope up and then something guilty crossed his mind like this wasn't right or wasn't meant to be.

"I hope you didn't mind waiting," she said in a light English accent.

"Uhm, no … no." His voice trembled.

Slipping under the covers, she said words that were supposed to be comforting. "I'm glad you canceled class."

_So I'm a teacher!_

Her hand traveled across his chest and began unbuttoning his top. Deciding he could try and hold her off a little, he began a conversation, buttoning everything she'd managed to unbutton.

"You know, maybe … maybe … maybe we should just talk for a second," he said, stammering.

Her eyebrows knitted together in confusion. "I know this is our first, but …."

_Oh, boy._

"No, you look great and …," on hearing she looked great, she let her fingers roam along his chest hair. His voice cracked as he explained, "It's just …."

"You think you're too old?"

He took advantage of it. "Well …."

"You're only forty-three. That's hardly old."

_Forty-three?_

"Then it's because I'm a student?"

"You're my student?" he asked, more to himself than anyone.

Although she wrinkled her nose at him, she seemed determined, as if maybe he was teasing her.

"I'm more than your student, I'm your assistant."

"Of course you are."

"But, I think you have a lot to teach me right now," she said.

Without warning, her lips found his and she began to slip out of her nightgown, despite his protestations.

"Listen," he whispered, holding her hands. "It's just … it doesn't seem right."

"Samuel," she began.

_Samuel … that sounds familiar. Is that _my _name?_

"I know you're nervous about presenting your paper tomorrow on quantum physics, but … I think today we should just focus on us."

"My paper?"

"Yes, on time travel. Are you feeling okay?"

"I think … I might be a bit under the weather." Too many things seemed familiar … he had a feeling he was a scientist who knew something about quantum physics. To test his brain, he reeled through what he knew to be the basics when he was at MIT.

_MIT?_

As his lips whipped out a few theorems, the girl found herself riveted.

"I've always been impressed by you and your knowledge. Some day, I'd like to travel through time," she whispered.

The words "wouldn't everyone" almost came to his lips, but he realized it'd be a lie. He had nothing to base it off of other than a feeling, a prickling one that ran across his neck – something that told him no one would want that.

"Samuel," she whispered. "It _is_ the symposium, isn't it?"

Leaning into him, she smoothed his hair as she must've done a thousand times before, but this time felt new. More than her fingers on his chest, this felt comfortable and a lopsided grin wormed across his face.

"Your faithful teaching assistant Alia won't let you down," she whispered, spreading kisses across his forehead.

"Alia?"

"What?" she asked.

_Her name is Alia._

The name rang a bell. Her name, her face … she seemed very familiar. As she crawled across his lap and kissed his lips, he noticed even _that_ felt familiar. Well, why shouldn't it; he'd probably kissed her a million times. But, if that were true – why did it, paradoxically, feel so new?

"I won't do anything if you tell me to stop," she said, seductively.

"What?" he whispered.

"I know how you feel. I won't do anything you don't want me to."

Goose bumps sprang up on his skin and his brain raced at exactly how to extract himself from this situation. And yet, for some reason, his mind kept telling him not to panic or distress her -- Alia. Baffled, he tried to work through it: she felt familiar and kissing her felt good, but a small part of him wondered if it was the right thing to do.

"Samuel, make love to me," she whispered. "We've wanted each other for a while. Meeting you here was your idea. We can worry about the symposium later."

-----

"It's too late," Gooshie said through the speaker over head. "The connection is broken."

Al wasn't ready to give up, but sighed anyway. "I can't believe we got so close."

One more thing bothered the admiral, the man in front of him was still there. Something … or someone … Him … wanted them to find Sam this time.

"What's your name?" Al asked the professor.

"Samuel …. That's odd. I know it's Samuel, but I can't remember what my last name is."

"What year is it?" Al asked.

Samuel stared into space and finally, smiled. "It's 1976."

_Bingo!_

Al was beginning to form a picture. From his years in the military, the admiral knew a few things about scientific programs at colleges. There was only one college in England, in the 70s that would've hired someone with a specialty in quantum physics.

"You're from Oxford, aren't you?" Al asked.

The man produced a strange smile. "Yes. I teach at Oxford."

Al nodded. "Sit tight. I'll be right back."

Exiting the imaging chamber, he grinned at Gooshie. "Ziggy, find me a Samuel at Oxford in around 1976. Professor of Physics."

"Is that an order, Admiral?" the machine asked.

Al rolled his eyes, deciding not to answer.

Tina flitted in wearing a purple, glitter cocktail dress. Al couldn't help looking at her legs, despite being happily married as Gooshie smiled at his girlfriend.

"What took you so long, Tina?"

"I was at a party," she said. The shrill voice and strong New Jersey accent hung in the air.

Al looked at his watch: 3:00 a.m. At least the woman knew how to have a good time, and although being a family man, somehow he always admired those who did.

"Anything, Ziggy?" he asked.

"I found something. There are three Samuels who teach in the physics department. Samuel Westing, Samuel Johnson and Samuel Bracket."

Al stared up at the sphere above his head – Ziggy – and frowned. _Samuel Bracket?_

Something in his gut told him that was the one. Heading back into the imaging chamber, he delivered the question almost as if it were a statement.

"Your name is Samuel Bracket."

"Yes," the man said. "How did you know?"

_This is getting weird!_

"Do you ring my assistant: Al?"

_Holy smokes! _

----

The woman in front of him was an onslaught of lips. Her hands had managed to wind in his hair and she'd cajoled his pajama top from him. As he felt her hands skim his stomach, something forced him to grab her hand.

"You're right. It's the symposium," Sam chortled.

"You seem like you don't have a problem," she said. She smiled seductively.

He jumped out of bed and worked his fingers over the button of his pajamas, buttoning his top. Instead of worrying about upsetting her, he decided to tell her the truth.

"Alia, I can't remember what my paper is about."

Sticking out her lower lip, she shook her head. "You're teasing me."

"I'm telling you, I can't remember my presentation, the paper … anything."

"You've practiced your presentation twice last night."

"I can't even remember practicing."

With a little more panic, she continued. "You just gave your presentation last week to graduate students. Samuel, what's going on?" she asked.

"I don't know."

"If you're saying you don't want to go to bed with me, I think you could make a better excuse. Pulling up the straps to her negligee, her lips drew into a frown.

Sam worked his eyes to the ceiling and hoped … prayed … the information would come to him. Quickly.

"There is something wrong, isn't there?"

His voice was hoarse. "I'm telling you the truth. I can't remember much of anything."

"What can you remember?" she asked.

He sighed. "I remember I went to MIT."

"You never went to MIT."

"There's more – I think my name is Sam," he said. The words sprang into the air as it was a revelation.

"You've never gone by Sam."

He shrugged. She narrowed her eyes – somewhere in between fear and suspicion.

"Are you pulling one over on me?" she asked.

"No."

"Well, you're frightening me. I wish you'd stop it, Samuel."

"You … you haven't noticed anything different about me?" he asked.

"Of course not. Other than you luring me here, canceling your class and then getting cold feet."

There was a knock on the door and Alia got out of the bed, wrapped a robe around her and opened it. Champagne and fruit was delivered by the a man in what looked like a bellhop uniform.

"Mr. Bracket, you wanted me bring it about now?"

"Uhm, yeah. I guess." He furrowed his brow.

The woman shook her head and wagged her finger. "You almost got me."

He gave a lopsided smile. As he crossed over to accept and sign for the bill, he passed a mirror and stared into it. What was odd was the creature looking back at him seemed oddly familiar. Dark hair with a white stripe at his forehead, green eyes that reflected tiny speckles of amber, a prominent nose and a cleft in his chin. What seemed odd were the crow's feet and lines that hung around his eyes and under his bangs.

Glancing behind him, he heard Alia sign the bill and excuse the young man who delivered everything.

She said, pointing to the mirror, "You're a handsome man, but not the type to let it get to your head. Don't start now."

Turning slowly to her, he watched her open what was being chilled.

"What's my paper called?" he asked.

"You're joking again, right?"

"What's my paper called?" he asked more earnestly.

"It's called _Time Isn't Linear_."

"No, time isn't linear. It's like a balled up piece of string," he mumbled.

"That's not exactly how you tell it, but that may make more sense. Are you thinking of adding that in?"

"Am I married?" he asked.

It seemed like an of question to ask the woman he was about to sleep with, but he had to know what the hell was going on. His brain was lighting up like a Christmas tree, buzzing with catch phrases and words: time, string theory ….

She furrowed her brow almost in anger, which he took to mean he wasn't.

"I mean, _was _I married?"

"Samuel, stop it."

Sam took a deep breath. "I was married to a woman named Donna."

"You told me the two of you divorced five years ago."

He frowned.

"What's going on?"

In a flash, he remembered his life. Everything – Indiana, the farm, his father, Tom, MIT, his father's heart attack, starting a project called Starbrite with a quirky guy named Al, the imaging chamber ….. Staggering back, he knocked the dresser and stared into her eyes.

"I don't know," he whispered. "But, I do know I need your help."

-------

For some reason, Al was always a superstitious man. He sometimes chalked that up to have a Russian mother – as if it were in his genes. Samuel Bracket, his looks, quantum physics and an assistant named Al … it was getting more than a little weird.

Instead of staying, he left the imaging chamber to light up a stogie and puff on it. Although Beth wanted him to give up smoking, which he mostly had, he sometimes had to have a cigar to think … at least that's what he told himself.

"You know I hate when you smoke," Ziggy said.

He ignored her.

"There sure are a lot of coincidences," Gooshie said.

"Too many!" Al agreed. "And, I don't think they're coincidences."

"Whaddaya mean, Al?" Tina asked.

"I think He," Al pointed up at the ceiling, "wants us to find Sam."

The curly-haired man with the googly eyes and moustache reminded Al of something he'd nearly forgotten.

"Admiral, we have a meeting with Senator Bostock in five hours."

_Great timing!_

Senator Bostock was investigating small projects the government was funding and determining whether to continue to invest in them or to recommend those projects ended. Rumor had it, he'd recommended quite a few projects stop. Congress loved him because he was able to save money – especially during a budget crunch – which meant he was a serious threat to Al.

Worse, Senators had absolutely no regard for reputations, the military or science. They were only interested in whether their constituents would care about the project. One top-secret program that involved time travel developed on a string-theory probably didn't qualify as interesting to the public sector. In fact, Al who'd had a lot of street smarts could guarantee – your average John or Jane Doe didn't give a shit.

"Do you want me to wake up the rest of the team?" Gooshie asked.

Al gave a brief nod and headed back into the chamber. Muttering under his breath, he hoped for the best.

"I hope You do want us to find him," he said to the ceiling.

As the door opened, Samuel stood and gave Al the kinda news he'd been waiting for.

"I have a symposium tomorrow in which I'm the speaker."

"Where are speaking?" Al asked.

"New Mexico."

TBC


	2. Deja Vous All Over Again

A/N: Hey, thanks guys! I liked the Evil Leaper concept. After Shock Theater and the LH Oswald episodes, my favorites include the Evil Leaper ones. I hope I don't disenfranchise people, but I wasn't a huge fan of _Trilogy_.

And bluedana, looks like we have similar taste in shows! I really liked _Emergency! _as a kid. Mr. Spock followed by Randolph Mantooth were two of my first television crushes! I think Ron Healy (Tarzan) followed closely after them, as did Adam West. I was a strange girl!

---

There was just enough time for Al to change out of his bathrobe. Unfortunately the closet at work (and at home) was filled with stuff bought by his wife, not the flashy vestiges he'd purchase. But, at least he'd look respectable wearing khakis and a button-down shirt, like someone the senator should listen to.

As he waited patiently, which was hard to do, by the front door, Bostock showed up.

And he was exactly what Al expected: a real nozzle, the kinda guy that would cut a free lunch program for school children if he thought it would save taxpayers a penny each year. Gaudy, with a suit and hair that looked like belonged to a televangelist, he stuck out his hand for Al to shake.

Sucking up whatever disgust he felt, Al shoved his palm against Bostock's.

"Senator," Al said.

"Admiral," Bostock said. "I don't have a lot of time to shoot the bull, so you better have something real interesting for me to see."

"We have someone in the imagining chamber right now," Al said.

It was time to put on the charm and glitz if Project Quantum Leap was going to continue to exist. Senator Joseph Bostock, a representative from Oklahoma, was in charge of the Finance Committee and he needed to see that this program was exciting, edgy and worth the money. The operative words being: worth the money.

The Senator said, "Well, that's good. I'd heard that this program hadn't had a damn thing happen in more than ten years."

It was more like nine, but Al wasn't going to quibble about a few months. Al ushered the man to the chamber door and with a pleased grin, introduced the Senator to Samuel Bracket.

"You're joking right?" Senator Bostock said.

"No." Al said, "This is Dr. Samuel Bracket. He's a professor at Oxford University."

"I might be from Oklahoma, but I didn't just fall off the turnip truck. This is Dr. Sam Becket."

The professor narrowed his eyes in response as Al shook his head vigorously.

"No, this is Samuel Bracket. He just _looks _like Sam Beckett." Al gave a quick glance to the ceiling as he thought the big guy upstairs was really screwing him over this time.

"Uh, huh," Bostock said.

Al frowned. Pointing to the physics professor and twirling his finger in the air, he encouraged the man to say a few words. Sam Bracket shrugged and then spoke up.

"He's correct, of course. My name is Sam Bracket and I've been teaching at Oxford for more than five years."

"Yeah." Bostock shook his head. "Admiral, I gotta say this is a sorry ass trick to try and continue to get funding. I know Senator Whitcomb was a personal friend of yours and served with you in the Korean War or whatever--"

Al's lips turned down. "Vietnam. He was a POW in Vietnam with me."

"My mistake. Look, coming down here was just a formality. I've reviewed your documents for the past ten years, and you ain't got diddly squat to show for the nearly 2 million dollars we've given this project."

"It's _nine _years," Al argued. Now was the time to quibble. "And after taxes, the numbers are more like a million, which have gone to giving a salary for more than ten people for almost ten years, not to mention maintenance of the machinery and-"

"I'm recommending to the Finance Committee we shut this project down."

"You can't!"

"Yes, sir, I can." Striding out the imaging chamber door, he continued. "And shutting down this program is exactly what I'm gonna do. My taxpayers, and the taxpayers from all over the country, want to pay for programs that actually _work_."

"Give me a week," Al said. In fact, he said the words before he'd really thought about them. It didn't make sense to bargain with this dork, but for some reason that's precisely what he found himself doing. "If you give me a week, I can prove this project is worthwhile."

"And why the hell should I do that?"

Al smiled. He'd done some research of his own. Whitcomb _was _a personal friend, and although he couldn't stop Quantum Leap from suffering budget cuts, he managed to keep the lights on. When Whitcomb was voted out of office last year, Al knew the writing was on the wall and Whitcomb did too. It's why he gave Al some information about the guy who replaced him on the Finance Committee.

Joseph Bostock loved women and was recently divorced.

Shutting his eyes for a moment of silent prayer and reflection, Al eventually said a few words.

"Senator, have you met Tina?"

---

Sam remembered a lot of things, but not everything. He knew that he was from Indiana and could recall details like how to milk cows and what cornfield to cut through to get to school on time. And yet, they seemed like someone else's memories, maybe because there were holes in his thoughts. For example, although he could remember Donna's name, he wasn't sure if he was married to her or whether she left him at the altar. There were other things. He knew Al, and could even picture the cigar-smoking man, but he couldn't remember whether his long-time friend had a wife or children.

It made him feel a little like he was living a double life, or at least a schizophrenic one. Whatever unsettling feelings he had about the world he'd awakened to, he decided to roll with the punches. For some reason, acting like this world was normal – including having two identities without freaking himself or anyone else out – seemed like what he was supposed to do.

A nervous smile played on his lips. Attempting to ease Alia - he could tell she was on the verge of calling a doctor, one that wore a bright white lab coat and dealt with people in a padded room – he tried to dismiss his earlier allegations.

"Just jitters."

"You said you needed my help," Alia said. "What's going on?"

"Small panic attack. You know our … relationship and the symposium."

Questioning eyes watched him.

Urging a more confident smile on his face, he eventually rested a hand on her shoulder. "I'm feeling better now."

"You still think you're Sam?"

The corners of his mouth twitched. "You can keep calling me Samuel."

"You gave me a considerable fright. I was afraid for a moment you'd gone completely crackers."

The man sighed and then walked to her and gave her a peck on the cheek, one he could tell she wanted to make less chaste.

"If I see my notes again, maybe it'll lessen the attack."

Nodding, she gathered the information from her briefcase and handed it to him.

As he looked over it, he realized he knew much of it already … although some of the suppositions were wrong. In thirty minutes of running through the paper and speaking from it, he'd already stopped three times to correct information. Taking the pen off the trolley, the one that held untouched champagne, he wrote onto the paper.

Looking over his shoulder she asked, "What are you doing?"

"Correcting the calculations."

Taking a napkin from the tray in their room, he scrawled Greek symbols and numbers as if they were words he'd learned in kindergarten. He began mumbling to explain his new computations.

"To travel through time you need something that accelerates mass faster than the speed of light," he said.

Alia had heard that one before obviously and she nodded. "Yes, yes."

"But, light isn't the variable. It's the constant."

She'd heard that one, too.

"It's why …." Scribbling down a few more numbers, instead of talking he showed her his conclusion: a mathematic equation that required him to unfold the napkin and spread it out.

At first her face showed only skepticism. Looking over the numbers though, she knitted her brow and then finally raised her eyes to stare at him in disbelief.

"Samuel, you hadn't worked out the equation to travel through time. You'd only developed a theory."

He blinked. Something rattling around in his brain wondered if he should've shown her the solution the equation.

"Oh," he said.

Tearing off the bed and throwing her arms around him, she hugged him to her. "Samuel, I'm so proud of you. How did you manage to--?"

"Just lucky," he said. Tingles of anxiety ran around his stomach again.

"Hardly."

"I meant, I must've known it for some time because it just came to me. Err, the final conclusion."

"I see." Uncorking the champagne, Alia poured two glasses. "Well, Professor, maybe we can really celebrate now, especially since you seem to have a handle on everything."

Sam narrowed his eyes. Although he was confused, something told him a well-placed phone call to an old friend was definitely in order.

_I need to call Al._

"I gotta go get something."

"I brought birth control, if that's what you're concerned about," she said, laughing.

_Oh boy. _"No. I, ah, need to get something else."

"What?"

"I … I need to make a call."

"You're calling the dean again?"

"Yes. I'm calling the dean again." With more assurance he pointed to her. "That's exactly what I'm doing. You know me. I like to call the dean."

She shook her head. "You have always been business before pleasure. I hope that changes some day soon, or you'll have to get yourself another girlfriend."

Sam didn't expect the barrage of frustration hurled in his direction from the young woman.

"I mean we've been dating for the past two months without any …."

He sucked in his breath.

"And I was hoping today we could ease the tension the two of us have had."

"Alia--"

"You still have feelings for Donna, don't you? That's why you brought up her name."

Sam searched his mind, and found a mass of confusion. It was the same _something_ that cornered him into pretending to be Samuel Bracket. There was an honest answer - I don't know - and then there was an answer that would keep the charade going a little longer and save her feelings.

Working out how to deliver the honest one, while adding things to prevent from hurting her, he paused just long enough to gaze into her eyes. And really see. Her orbs searched his as if he was the most important man in the world and turned to him as if she could see into his very soul.

It was something he hadn't expected, and it was the first truly comforting thing that had happened since he'd awakened. The way her eyes glistened as she stared at him, that stirred him. Uncharacteristically, he leaned in a little more.

_It's been so long._ He didn't know exactly where that had come from, or really how long _long _had been. It certainly wasn't all about sexual attraction, and yet he couldn't quantify why he wanted this woman now.

_Deja vous._

"You're a beautiful woman, Alia. You always have been."

He kissed her briefly and when his lips parted from hers, he realized how true and confusing the words he spoke were. Her hands reached for the back of his head, dragging his mouth to hers again.

Thoughts about Al and the symposium were chased away.

---

Al hit the mother load by introducing Bostock to Tina; the Senator's eyes worked her over like a Swedish masseuse.

"Tina, have you had a chance to meet Senator--"

"Joe," said the senator.

Tina smiled and smacked her gum, hiding a giggle. The two shook hands and she beamed back.

"Al said you're here to determine if we should continue the project. I think being a congressman would be exciting. Getting to vote on all sorts of things and make laws and stuff."

Bostock gave a televangelist smile.

Before Gooshie could step in or Al decided the guy wasn't worth Tina's time, he piped in.

Al said, "Tina, I'm betting the senator hasn't seen the sights around New Mexico. Why don't you take the day off and show him around."

"What about retrieving Dr. Beckett?" she asked.

"One day off won't kill you," Al said. "Or hurt the project."

The senator shot a glance toward Al. Yeah, the admiral was about as subtle as a pile driver on a Sunday morning, but it seemed the effort wasn't wasted.

"Taking in the sights will give me some time to think about that week you were asking for anyhow," Joe said.

Tina must've gotten the message, because she fixed her face – although it wasn't broken in the first place – and mentioned a few words.

"I'll use your car, Al."

_Swell._ Nodding, he watched the two saunter off.

"Why'd you send her off with him?" Gooshie asked.

"We need Bostock to agree to a week."

"But-"

The words swelled and the odor of three-day old onions floated into the air and made a beeline for Al's nostrils. Without missing a beat, or even turning his nose, he answered his friend.

"You and Tina got something special. She wouldn't ruin that for Bostock."

"I don't know," Gooshie said. "I'm a scientist. I don't so much like to party, but--"

"If you two are done discussing Tina's love life," Ziggy moaned, "I have some information that may interest you."

"What is it?" Al asked, crankily.

"Based on the interpolation of the data I have received and quantifying it by using the algorhythm --"

"In English," Al said.

Ziggy sighed. "Dr. Bracket gave his a presentation on quantum physics to a Dr. Thomas Waller, a man who would become a professor at MIT and teach a young Sam Beckett about quantum physics."

"Oh?" Al asked. _Finally some useful information outta this overgrown—_

"He lost tenure when a Dr. Zoey Seymour, professor of Journalism from Oxford, accused the man of rape. Apparently he meets this woman at the conference."

"Rape?"

Al was a good judge of character: he could spot a jackass in less than twenty paces. The man in the imaging chamber was as dangerous as a house cat that had its claws removed. Something didn't add up.

"Doesn't seem likely," he said.

Gooshie furrowed his bushy orange eyebrows. "You never know what a man is capable of."

That was garbage. He'd known what men were capable of.

"I'm tellin' you. Not likely."

"An Alia Coleman, a teaching assistant working on her PhD, also filed similar charges."

"Alia?" Al asked. That name rang a bell, as if he'd heard of it somewhere before. "Got a picture of her?"

Ziggy grumbled about having to do all the work, something that Al had learned to tune out, and on the wall – as big as Texas – appeared a woman, one that for some reason he was pretty sure Sam had described to him before.

"Oh boy!"

TBC


	3. Ying and yang

Sam had always been a romantic at heart, meaning the kind of guy who believed in love at first sight, moonlit walks on the beach, that sometimes holding hands made the heart pump more than a passionate kiss and the idea of soulmates – one soul in the universe you were meant to share eternity with.

The feeling that bubbled within him looking at Alia was that of a soulmate, and it confounded him why he hadn't noticed it right away, but now holding her hand and pressing his lips to hers was a feeling of completion: two halves that made up a whole.

As the kissing stole from first to second base, Sam barely managed to separate from her. He needed a little air.

"You've never kissed me like that before," Alia said.

By the look in her eye, she was hungry for more. And although this woman stirred something in him, his parents taught him to be a gentleman.

"Maybe we should take this slow," he whispered.

Sure, his parents had taught him how to behave, and though his mind generally accepted that was a good idea, his reptilian brain was telling him something completely different.

"Slow?" she asked. "It's been _months_."

_You're telling me_, he thought

"Samuel," she said, unbuttoning his pajama top, "for once let's just stop thinking about tomorrow and think about only today."

As his shirt hit the floor, he thought that sounded like a pretty good idea.

"We have all day to laze around in bed," she said.

He nodded, nuzzling his nose into her throat. "Mmmmm, hmmmmm."

"You obviously know the speech you're giving tomorrow."

"That's true," he said.

"So, what's to prevent us?"

As she gently pushed him to the bed, and her lips met his, the phone rang.

---

Al wasn't exactly sure _why _he knew this woman was the same Alia that he and Sam had run into before, but he did.

The issue was: was Alia still under Lothos' control or not.

_Zoey! _"Sam told me that the evil … err hologram thingy … whatever … me … is named Zoey. She's the woman who accuses Sam of rape in just a few days."

Gooshie stared at him, google-eyed.

"You know, Alia's evil observer - Zoey. She's the evil version of me."

Gooshie was silent.

"You don't believe me," Al said.

"You got to admit, Admiral, it sounds a bit far-fetched. Why would evil pick the names of real people in time to leap into?"

"Why would a Samuel Bracket who looks like Sam Beckett but ten years older, the age of our Sam, show up in our imaging chamber?"

"Genome variation is not as great as one might think. There are a limited number of possibilities, meaning someone from the past may look exactly like--"

Al didn't want to hear some scientific mumbo-jumbo reason for all the coincidences. He _knew_ the reason. The reason was dictated by the Man Upstairs and whatever science cooked up for all the coincidences didn't hold water with Al. Besides his gut, he had Sam's information. Al's Bar, the final location before they lost Sam ten years ago, was full of people whose names were familiar.

_Great, God has a sense of humor._

God or whatever He was that was sending Sam around in time and the globe, liked cosmic happenstance; coincidences that had absolutely no business being in such multitude.

It was a sign. A neon one.

They had something they'd just been testing throughout the nine plus years Sam had been gone, a way to send Admiral Al Calavicci back in time. Although Gooshie had used the calculations and information Sam had for Project Quantum Leap, the orange-haired scientist wasn't certain it would work.

"We know where Sam is going to be tomorrow," Al said.

Gooshie obviously being a smart guy, figured out where this conversation was going and shook his head vigorously.

"Admiral, we've never tried that before."

Ziggy piped in. "Gooshie is right, Admiral. You aren't Dr. Beckett. Your chances of survival are less than 30, if the machine works … which has a 15.52--"

"I don't care about the odds."

He did really, but at times like these he hated hearing them, especially when they were so catastrophically against him.

"You interrupted me." Ziggy said, crankily. "I don't like being interrupted."

She threatened to shut off again, just like she did three years ago when Al asked Gooshie to pull the plug on her speakers to keep her from singing the same song as the Hal computer did in the movie _2001: A Space Odyssey_. It had scared the bejesus out of him, mostly because she'd been calling him Dave all day.

"I was going to say," she said, silence ringing through the room, "that perhaps Dr. Beckett will contact you."

"How can he do that?" Al said.

Gooshie volunteered some information. "Maybe he'll contact you in the past or write a letter to us, leaving it with a lawyer and asking him to deliver it today. He's done it before."

Expectantly they looked toward the door, and when no one showed stared back at the ground.

Al pointed at the other accelerator and then looked toward Gooshie. "Fire it up."

---

"Ignore it," Alia said, meaning the phone. "Please."

Sam watched the phone, a princess-model, the kind he remembered girls from his college having. To distract his attention, Alia kissed him more.

"Please," she said.

Unable to stay away, Sam picked it up and tentatively put it to his ear. "Hello?"

"Samuel!" said the phone.

It was a woman's voice, an English one and kinda snooty to his Midwestern sensibilities.

"Hello," he said.

"This is Zoey."

"Mmmm-hmmm," he said.

There was an utter lack of confidence in his voice and he was hoping that more details would continue to come out.

She said, "Zoey Seymour."

"Oh?"

The woman with a heavy accent sounded annoyed. "I'm the journalism professor who wanted to attend your symposium."

"Oh, right," he said, trying to sound convincing.

"I wanted to make sure we were meeting for drinks tonight."

"Tonight?"

"Yes. Tonight."

"Uhm, what time did we agree to?"

"6 p.m. at The Area 51."

Sam was guessing it was the name of a bar. A tingle spread from his stomach to his head and found himself answering her. "How about at the bar here in the hotel, that way I can ask my … friend to join us."

There was a pause, one that turned pregnant. "Of course," she said.

"Good. I'm staying at the Nativo," he said looking at the pad in front and then gave the address. "I'll see you there."

The phone hung up and Sam frowned. _Nice manners._

"Who was it?" asked Alia.

"Zoey."

"From Oxford?" she asked.

"Yeah." _I'm from Oxford._ He tried to sound more assuring, as if he knew the woman. "Yeah, it's her."

"I can't stand her," said Alia.

"Maybe there's something likable about her."

Alia furrowed her brow, challenging him to think of something and then finally thought of one thing. "She does want to cover you. I find that likable."

Giving a tender smile, he kissed her again and the electricity came back, shooting to his fingers as if causing them to fall asleep and curling his toes. Kisses stole second to third base, and rather than push her away he held her. Her hands worked around the buttons of his Rock Hudson pajamas until his top splayed open, causing him to sigh deeply. Hands quickly felt at his hair and his body began to cave to bliss.

As the two headed for bed, he looked at, truly. Her skin was fair, her hair blonde and her eyes blue. She had a soft English accent and thick lips that he'd enjoying embracing. His skin was tanned, unnaturally so for an Englishman, his hair was dark (other than a gray streak in the front) and his eyes were green. She was woman. He was man.

_Ying and yang._

There was something else; she seemed so innocent, so easily corruptible.

Pressing his mouth against hers more urgently he realized that hadn't always been the case. In his heart he felt there were times when they'd met, where she was corruption looking for innocence. Hungry lips began to ravish her, starved and she writhed below him.

"Yes, I want you, Sam," she said.

And then his mouth halted. She had yet to call him by his nickname.

The two stared at each other, her brow furrowed. "I'm sorry--" she began to say.

"I like when you call me that," he said. His lips tore down her neck.

----

Gooshie shook his head again, trying to explain why firing up the accelerator was a bad idea. There were scientific reasons, financial ones and then Dr. Bostock breathing down their necks. All valid, all no reason to stay put.

Despite Al discouraging discussions about chances, the admiral knew that this was his one and only opportunity. He had to find his best friend. There wouldn't be another day, another hour, another minute. No more chances. Not ever.

_I can't look myself in the mirror another day unless I give this a shot._

Despite thinking the accelerator suit was stupid and finding it made him feel a little like a sardine, he squeezed into it and cursed Sam's choice in apparel: white lycra. Sure, Sam's lithe martial-arts body made the leotard look normal, but Al's shape reminded him he was in his sixties … and less fit than he'd wanted to be. He remembered the uber-geek said the material – lycra - breathed better than any other fabric and enabled the whatsa-ma-jiggers to be more effective and efficient when doing their whosie-whatsit.

When he strode across the room, he thought he could hear Ziggy snicker and the admiral shot the overgrown computer a dirty look.

"Admiral, you look positively--" The computer sniggered again.

Holding in his gut, caused by too many home cooked meals from his wife, he frowned. "Goshie, I'm ready when you are."

The orange-haired guy started spouting a few more cautions and Al had to say it again.

"_He_," he said pointing upwards, "is ready for me to try this."

"How do you know?"

Al shook his head and thought of the sign of a cross, genuflecting, something he'd learned while at the orphanage. _How do I know? _The answer came to him unexplainably, and it was something that even Sam didn't have: Faith. Sure, Sam had faith in science and humanity, but Al had to go the 'church, pray and sing hymnals' faith. Maybe this experiment that Sam started was to show the scientist what Faith was, and this part to show Al what science was.

_Not so mutually exclusive._

Whatever, he determined, the irony wasn't lost on him.

Al, his eyes gleaming, instructed Gooshie once more. "Do it. And tell Beth I may be a couple of days. But, don't upset her."

A whirring noise was heard in the background, in chamber 2 – one built after the disappearance of Dr. Sam Beckett. Al turned to look at Ziggy and gave a smile.

"Don't mess this up," he said.

Ziggy, almost sounding upset, gave a thoughtful answer. "I won't."

And with that, Al headed into the chamber and felt a burst of air flow over him, sending his hair in all directions and making him wish he had a cigar to chew on.

_Hold on, Sam!_


End file.
